


Floral Arrangements

by aactionjohnny



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 11:57:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19927708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aactionjohnny/pseuds/aactionjohnny
Summary: Warlock loves his nanny and his gardener very much, but he can’t figure out how they feel about one another. After some careful study, he decides he has to hatch a plan to get them together.





	1. Roses

**Author's Note:**

> My last fic was sort of angsty and bigger in scope so I’m just....I want that Cute Shit

The Dowling house sits solitary in a wide, green field. A peaceful, pastoral scene that betrays the potential for evil that lives inside of it, sleeping soundly in a wood framed twin bed, just six years old. He is a sweet boy, Warlock, even though at times he is a menace. Perfectly balanced, one might say.

At least, that’s what they’ve set out to create: a boy so unremarkably normal he couldn’t possibly bring about the apocalypse. And so far, Aziraphale and Crowley think they’re doing a pretty good job. 

In the foyer, they have their secret morning meeting, dressed in their disguises, talking in whispers, planning the day’s deceit.

“I’ll go wake the boy,” Crowley says, adjusting his little black sunglasses on his nose, straightening his fitted black blouse. “You’ll be doing pest control today, right? Let me know if he kills any slugs.”

“I suppose you’d be quite proud,” Aziraphale says. “But I’ve told him time and time again to be gentle with them.”

“Well, then I guess we’re both doing our jobs.”

They nod at one another, bidding each other goodbye until their duties should next bring them together. Aziraphale slips quietly out the front door, disappearing into the vast garden, and Crowley begins his ascent up the spiral staircase, smiling at the way his shoes click menacingly on the hardwood. He’s come to enjoy this disguise. People look upon him with much more terror than they ever have when he wore pants all the time. And little Warlock just adores him. The scary stories he tells, the mischievous advice he gives.

He enters Warlock’s room, slowly opening the door, and then sits on the side of his bed, laying a gloved hand on his shoulder to rouse him.

“Dear,” he coos in that soft, high tone he’s perfected. “It’s morning. You’ve got your lessons.”

Warlock groans and rolls away from him.

“Don’t wanna…”

“Is that so?” Crowley asks, silently congratulating himself for having instilled that apathy. “Well, then. I suppose there’s nothing we can do but go out to play, instead.”

“Really!?” Warlock says, sitting bolt upright, a sleepy grin on his face. “...Brother Francis says I should always put learning first.”

“Oh, he’s a silly little old man, dear. You mustn’t take his word as _gospel_. Come, I’ll let you have coffee, as long as you don’t tell you mother. Then we’ll go to catch butterflies in the garden, like last summer. Oh, but you’ve gotten so big since then! They don’t stand a chance.”

Gleefully, Warlock springs out of bed and goes for his robe and slippers, then grabs his nanny by the hand and rushes her out into the hallway, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. They share their secret coffee, with just a little too much sugar, and then head into the garden.

-

Aziraphale is grateful that he ended up actually _enjoying_ being a gardener, even when he had to do it as a human might, without his angelic magic. Behind the hedges, he hums as he snips, admiring that satisfying snapping noise that his clippers make. He holds a hand over his eyes to block the sun as he sees Crowley and Warlock exit the house, a little earlier than they ought to. Oh, he’s let him skip his studies again. Wiley demon, that Crowley. And yet, watching as the two of them practically skip out into the lawn, he smiles and waves with his grass-stained, gloves hand.

Crowley gives him a graceful wave with his wrist coquettishly bent. He has always been so effortlessly feminine, a chameleon. Aziraphale didn’t chide him for going so far out of his way to look stylish, even for the purpose of stopping the apocalypse. He can’t begrudge him that. He wouldn’t be Crowley without his dramatic flair. 

He’s been watching them too long, so he goes back to his hedge-trimming. He’s taken to finding some pride in his work here, in the beauty of the flowers and the careful weeding. He grins as he hears Warlock’s carefree laughter, but soon frowns.

“Got one!!” Warlock yells. “Nanny look!”

Aziraphale stands up to see, noting that Warlock has his hands clasped over something, no doubt some innocent little creature.

“Very good, dear. Do you know what kind that is?” Crowley asks, holding up a finger, quizzing him. Oh, Aziraphale sees how it is. Learning is important as long as it’s about insects.

“Blue morpho,” Warlock says with some measure of uncertainty.

“Excellent.”

Aziraphale grumbles and ambles around the hedges, giving them both a practiced, gentle scowl.

“Really now, Miss,” he says, wagging a finger. “Brother morpho doesn’t need to live in captivity. Warlock..?” He turns to look at the boy, who pouts and then opens his hands, letting the butterfly go free, it’s wings flashing blue as it flutters away to the bed of violets by the window.

“Brother Francis,” Crowley says, folding his thin arms. “He was just having a bit of fun. You mustn’t scold him for that.”

“Ah, Miss, I forget my place, don’t I? I, after all, am not Warlock’s nanny, am I?” 

“You most certainly aren’t.” Despite their bickering, they maintain their friendly smiles and gentle tone. Warlock looks back and forth between them, no doubt disappointed to no longer be the center of attention. Crowley takes his hand and leads him over to the hedges. “Very well. We can help Brother Francis with the hedges. Plenty of fun insects over there.”

-

Warlock follows his Nanny, holding desperately onto her hand. They have only gotten accidentally separated once, in town, and it was terrifying. Ever since, he’s been sure to be glued to her. She takes him over to the hedges, and he immediately takes note of a fat, shining beetle inspecting a blooming flower. He pokes it, and it flies away. Disappointed, he goes to look for another.

Beside him, Nanny Ashtoreth carries on a conversation with Brother Francis. Warlock isn’t sure if they’ve known each other a long time, or if they only just met once his parents hired them. But they seem to be friends, even if they argue. They’re always smiling at one another. Brother Francis planted more lavender because Nanny likes it, and he said that the apple trees match her outfits sometimes. Nanny always makes the kind of tea Brother Francis likes best, every afternoon, and they sit together at the table while Warlock pretends to nap.

He finds another insect friend, and holds out his finger, waiting for the little caterpillar to inch its way on. He grins wide when finally the creature climbs onto him, and he turns to his nanny to show her.

But she’s leaning over the hedges some, hands folded behind her back, smiling as Brother Francis places a rose, plucked from the hedge, behind her ear.

“Do mind the thorns,” he says. 

“I don’t mind them,” Nanny Ashtoreth says, running her hand over the delicate petals. “What lovely roses you’ve grown. _Miraculous_ , one could say.”

“I suppose!” Brother Francis says, bowing a little in thanks. 

Warlock remembers last spring, his parents’ anniversary, where his father came home with bouquet after bouquet of red roses, and his mother seemed so happy, and then they disappeared for the entire evening. He wonders if this means his gardener and his nanny will disappear for a few hours, or if they’re going to get married like his parents or if people who _aren’t_ married give each other roses, or if they just give each other flowers that _aren’t_ roses. As he ponders, the caterpillar climbs up his arm, and he looks down at it with a smile.

“My, Warlock, look at that!” Brother Francis says, gently running a finger down the caterpillar’s fuzzy back. “He likes you. See? When you’re kind to the bugs, they’re kind as well.”

“Ah, but what if one should bite you, Brother Francis?” his nanny asks with a raise of her brow.

“Then we forgive that bug. He’s just doin’ his earthly job.”

Nanny Ashtoreth snorts and turns her head back toward the house, showing her neck, which Brother Francis seems to focus on. Warlock tilts his head. They’re so weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley said fuck gender


	2. Lilacs

His mother comes home and greets him with a long, warm hug. Father is always working.

“How was your day, my darling?” she asks, brushing the hair from his face, holding his cheeks in her hands. “Didn’t get into too much trouble I hope.”

“No, mom. I played with the caterpillars.”

She gives him a defeated smile. Children will be children. Before they can continue their talk, though, they hear the telltale clicking of black leather heels on the floor. His mother stands to greet Nanny Ashtoreth.

“Thank you so much, dear,” Mrs. Dowling says, reaching out her arms, pushing herself up onto the balls of her feet to give the nanny a friendly kiss on the cheek. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”

“Oh, no no, dearie,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ll be dining in my quarters, but I thank you very much.”

“With Brother Francis?” Warlock asks, beaming. His nanny seems to falter some, which looks so odd on her.

“Ah...no. What makes you say that?”

Warlock shrugs and hugs her around the waist, comforted by the soft pat of her hand atop his head.

Once he’s alone with his mother, he cannot help but contain his curiosity.

“Mom, what did you and dad do before you were married?” he asks suddenly, and she nearly spits out her dinner.

“Um...well...we…” She dabs at her lips with a napkin. “We went on a lot of dates, and got to know each other very well.”

“Did he give you roses  _ before _ you were married?”

“Sometimes. Why do you ask, darling?”

He twirls his food around his fork, lazily kicking his feet beneath the dinner table.

“Have you got a little crush on someone, Warlock?” she probes, leaning forward with a knowing grin on her face.

“Ew, no, mom, gross!” 

She laughs and takes a sip of her wine. They both look so small in the massive dining room.

“Did he...did he ever put a rose behind your ear? And look at you like he was sad and happy at the same time?”

She puts down her fork and gives him a studious look.

“I don’t know, darling.”

Warlock nods, disappointed that she wasn’t much help. He’ll have to figure this out on his own.

He goes up to his room, closes the door, and turns on his bedside lamp, just enough light to see what he’s doing. He presses his nose up to the window, framing his eyes with his hands, and looks down into the garden. A stray cat has made its way onto the property, and Brother Francis has knelt down to tend to it. It rubs its neck on his hands, paws at him to beg for food. As quiet as he can, Warlock slides his window open just enough to hear.

“There’s a pretty kitty,” Brother Francis says, scratching behind its ears. He is so very gentle and kind, Warlock begins to feel an immense guilt for how he captured the butterfly earlier. As he rests his elbows on the window sill, a little gray moth lands on his hand, and he reaches out to gently pet it, so careful not to hurt its wings.

He hears a window slide open above him, two floors up. Nanny’s quarters. Brother Francis looks away from the cat, grinning up with his massive teeth at the now open window, and Warlock panics, falling to the ground to avoid being seen.

“Hullo, Miss!” Brother Francis calls.

“Found a friend, have you?” she calls. “She’s lovely.”

“Aye,” he says. “Not nearly as lovely as you, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,  _ really _ , Brother Francis, you never stop!”

Warlock covers his mouth as he chuckles. He almost feels a little bad that they don’t know he’s listening, but then he remembers that his nanny told him that eavesdropping can often be the key to success. 

“I’ll be seein’ ya in the morning, then?” Brother Francis calls.

“Of course. Now get some rest.”

Warlock waits until he’s certain they’ve both dispersed, and closes his window. As he climbs into bed, he begins to plot. It’s clear to him now that they like one another, but he’s hesitant to meddle. Brother Francis says that caution and patience are always the best way to do anything important.

-

In the morning, he wakes up before Nanny Ashtoreth can get to him, and he hurries out into the garden to talk to Brother Francis.

“Oh, young Warlock! Up bright and early, I see.”

He nods and sits on the rock wall, watching intently as he weeds the front garden.

“Do you like Nanny Ashtoreth?” he asks, too sleepy-eyed to be anything but blunt. Brother Francis drops his trowel.

“Er-- well, she’s a very kind woman,” he says, grunting as he stands up, taking a seat beside Warlock on the rock wall. “And she cares very much for you, doesn’t she?”

“Doesn’t she care for you, too?”

Brother Francis’s eyes grow a little wide.

“I suppose. She has a big heart.”

“She says that caring for people can be a mistake. But she’s so kind to me. And she likes you.”

“She…” He coughs. “Did she say that?”

“No. But she liked the flower you gave her. And I think she’s lonely.”

“Oh?”

“Mom is happy because she’s married, I think. Maybe you should marry Nanny Ashtoreth.”

Brother Francis blinks and turns to look at him straight-on.

“Warlock, that’s awfully bold of you! I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.”

“Why not?” he asks, folding his arms, becoming petulant.

“I...suppose we’re just too different, she and I.”

Warlock pouts. What’s so different about them? They both work for his parents. They both care for him. They’re both grown-ups. It makes perfect sense to him. Unless…

“Oh. Is it because she’s very pretty and you...well…?” 

“Um…” He doesn’t even seem offended. “Yes. That’s the reason. Well, one of the reasons. We’re just...very different.” He looks off across the horizon, at the lilac bushes that line the property and surround the garden with their strong, sweet smell. He takes in a deep breath through his nose. “You mustn’t worry about me, young Warlock. But you are a very sweet young man, wanting people to be together in love.”

Warlock leans his head on Brother Francis’s arm. He can’t give up just yet.

-

In the afternoon, when Warlock is meant to be napping, Aziraphale and Crowley meet in the backyard. 

“Everything going according to plan?” Crowley asks, taking off his sunglasses and cleaning them with a handkerchief. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, certain to keep his voice very quiet. “Warlock is becoming...quite the curious young man.”

“ _ Curious? _ Like...weird? Guess I’m doing my job.”

“No, no, curious as in...asking a lot of questions. Odd questions. Perhaps we should make an effort to be more discreet.”

Crowley nods, pondering. He holds his chin in his hand.

“Kids are just inquisitive, is all. Not much we can do about him reaching that age.”

“I suppose you’re right, Crowley, I just…” His eyes dart around, not at all eager to tell him the nature of Warlock’s questions. “I was thinking, perhaps…” He taps his fingers together. “We need a break. From this. Some time to be ourselves so it doesn’t...carry over.”

“Hm. Yeah, probably not a bad idea.” Crowley folds his arms. “Er-- together, right?”

“Oh, obviously.”

After a lingering handshake, they part ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big idiots to lovers energy goin' on here
> 
> i love and support warlock dowling for being a little asshole and somehow also the sweetest kid in the world


	3. Daisies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is short and i'm sorry but it's......i'm having fun just spewing the fluff every which way

The next day, during lunch, Warlock decides to do some further investigation.

“Nanny,” he begins, taking a too-big bite of his sandwich. Crusts cut off, more jam that peanut butter, because his nanny says its important to have things just how you like them. “Have you ever been married?”

She drops her fork onto her plate and raises her brow.

“Ah, no, dearie. I have not.”

“D’you think you ever will get married?” he asks, his mouth full. He swallows his chewed food, loud and enthusiastic.

“Oh...well, probably not, Warlock,” she admits, folding her napkin and placing it on the table. 

“That’s sad, nanny,” he says, pouting as he reaches for his glass of chocolate milk. “You’re such a nice lady. My mom says that my dad makes her very happy. You don’t always look so happy.”

She says nothing, just takes a polite sip of water, careful to wipe the glass free of her red lipstick once she’s done.

“I’m really quite alright, dearie,” she insists after a while, though there is something hollow in her voice.

“You’re very happy when you chat with Brother Francis,” he says, awfully proud of himself for his careful planning. 

“Well…” She clears her throat and slides out of her seat, making her way around the table to gather Warlock’s empty plate. “He is a kind man.”

“He makes you laugh.”

“Sometimes.”

She’s being so difficult. 

“Is it because he’s so funny-looking? That you don’t like him?”

She turns around from the sink, a graceful hand pressed to her chest in offense.

“I said neither of those things!”

“So you _ do _ like him?”

“Oh no, I’ve done too good a job making you a menace…”

“Begpardon?”

His nanny coughs again and shakes her head.

“Nothing, dear. Look…” She softens, walking back over to him and putting her hands on Warlock’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about anyone else’s happiness. Focus on what makes  _ you  _ happy.”

Warlock is struck by so many clever things to say, like how it would make him happy if she would marry Brother Francis, but he holds his tongue.

“Um...it would make me happy to…” He presses a finger to his lips, and then he grins. “Have a picnic. Next week. In the back garden, at sunset!”

“Oh, my, what a lovely idea, Warlock,” she says, placing a hand on his head, and then adoringly pinching his cheek. He winces, feigning embarrassment. 

“I want real crystal glasses, for milk.”

“We can arrange that.”

“And twelve peanut butter and jam sandwiches with the crusts cut off.”

“Anything you need, dear.”

He gives her a firm hug, smiling, though he won’t tell her just why he’s so happy. His plan is really coming together.

-

In the evening, Brother Francis is feeding the last round of birds. The stragglers that wait for hours in the trees, too lazy to come in the morning. Those are Warlock’s favorites. He takes a small bag of seed in his hand, helping out, spreading the bird food around the grass.

“Brother Francis,” he begins, keeping his eyes focused on the birds so as not to betray himself with a look of pure glee. “Next week, could you fill the back garden with daisies and lavender? I’m...having friends over for a picnic.”

“Oh! That sounds just splendid,” he says, standing up straight, putting his hands on his hips. “I’d be happy to help, Young Warlock. It would be a waste to have such a green thumb and not put it to use!”

They seal the deal with a warm embrace. Warlock lets it last; so dearly does he love his parents, but there is something different about the care he gets from Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth. He knows that, being unrelated to him, they have no obligation to be there. And yet, despite all his mischief and shortcomings, they are there each day.

After begging to be allowed to pick one of the tulips, and succeeded after much pouting, he runs inside to his mother and father, who are sitting on the couch watching one of their grownup shows.

“Hello, darling,” his mother says, welcoming him onto her lap. He hands his father the tulip.

“Beautiful, son. It’s, um...it sure is pink.” 

“Mom, dad…” he begins, “Next week, do you think you should go out? Together?”

“What do you mean, Warlock?” his mother asks, though she doesn’t take her eyes off of the television.

“I mean you two haven’t spent much time together lately, doing grownup stuff.”

“Oh, honey, really, it’s all right--”

“Dear,” his father begins, placing a hand on her knee. “Maybe he’s right. There’s a new place I’d love to take you, and they don’t allow little ruffians like this one.” He tousels Warlock’s hair. “Say...next week?”

“Oh, alright. As long as Miss Ashtoreth doesn’t mind watching him all evening.”

“I mean...what are we paying her for, hon?”

Triumphant, he slides off of his mother’s lap and says he’s going to go to bed. Tiptoeing into the kitchen, he completes the final step, grabbing a dusty, unopened bottle of red wine from beneath the cooking island and tucks it beneath his cardigan. Up in his room, he stores it in his sock drawer for next week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this house we love warlock dowling, sneaky little shit and matchmaker extraordinaire 
> 
> thanks for all the nice comments so far!

**Author's Note:**

> oh no it’s cute 
> 
> lmk what you think about my Soft Content, this fandom is awesome
> 
> Twitter: @peebnutbutter


End file.
